


(2. Mindless) / Something new, something old

by Mothfluff



Series: GO-ctober Prompts 2019 [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Ineffable husbands - Fandom
Genre: Drabble, Gen, M/M, October Prompt Challenge, One Word Prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 09:01:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20863643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mothfluff/pseuds/Mothfluff
Summary: My attempts at an October Challenge, basically using the original Inktober prompts for drabbles.(Each prompt will be posted as part of a series, not chapters, so I can add tags/characters/ratings/trigger warnings for each instead of the whole she-bang)Prompt 2 - MindlessCrowley is worried about Aziraphale's sudden interest into new things. Aziraphale is worried about losing Crowley's interest. It all ends in some really bad dishes and Crowley finally saying something very right.





	(2. Mindless) / Something new, something old

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn’t too fond of the first definition of mindless (to do something without concern for the consequences) because I didn’t wanna go for sad or whump so early on in the prompts. So instead I went with the idea of ‘mindless tasks / repetitions’.

Crowley was staring at Aziraphale eating. That, in itself, was nothing unusual.

What was unusual was the reason for the stare.

Previously, staring at Aziraphale had been a a very nice bonus to going to a restaurant with him, considering Crowley didn't really bother enjoying the food. Right now, it was more in an attempt to figure out what, exactly, was happening with the angel.

There wasn't much to enjoy this time around, anyway, as Aziraphale was rather more fighting his way through the dish, instead of the usual giddy smiles and happy moans whenever he got a mouthful of his favourite desserts.

He put down the fork after his last bite and looked almost relieved to be done.

“Well, that was certainly something unique.” Knowing the angel's speech well enough, Crowley was surprised that he chose such rude words to describe any food.

“Coulda told you that would be awful the moment you ordered it.”

“I didn't say awful.” He dabbed at the edge of his mouth with the frayed, eco-friendly napkin. “Just unique.”

“Angel. What. The. Fuck-”

“Language!”

“What the frigiddy-frag-”

“Now you're making fun of me.”

“Will you let me finish my question?”

“Only if you can ask it in a more polite manner.”

Crowley sighed. He was getting a headache, and it was only partially due to the horrible off-beat sounds coming from the speakers above them, blaring what the owner of the restaurant considered 'good music', but what others might describe as 'tone-deaf attempts at something that might resemble jazz if a person who'd never heard jazz or really any kind of music before tried to play it'.

“Angel. What is going on? Why are we here?”

“We had lunch.”

“No shit.” That, luckily, only earned him a stern look but no remark. “Though I wouldn't exactly call what was on your plate lunch.” He scowled at the waitress, who picked up said plate without a word nor smile on her lips, chewing on her gum. “But why are we _here_?”

Here was a tiny, overheated restaurant on almost the outskirts of town, in an area that Crowley knew had been described as “up and coming” in several newspapers, although those reports had been coming for several years now, and the area was very much neither up nor coming anywhere. The food was, as proven, indescribable, the décor garish, the clientele so hipster that it hurt to look at some of them. And inbetween all of this, a demon and an angel, starkly out of place in their black and off-white outfits.

“I just felt like trying something new. I'd heard good things about this place.” That was true, insofar as various people in the coffeeshop that had opened up close to Aziraphale's place had been talking about the restaurant, and sadly his sense of irony or sarcasm wasn't developed enough to hear the difference between 'good' and '_good_' in a human's voice.

“And that's all?”

“That's all.”

Crowley scoffed. “I call bullshit.” Another stern look, but he was right.

Last week, Aziraphale had spontaneously asked if they could go for lunch instead of dinner, and they'd ended up at a place that did some kind of fusion food, which Crowley concluded must mean the fusion of inedible food with unbearable stench. Two days ago, after dinner at one of their well-known restaurants, Aziraphale had dragged him into a _bar _for a nightcap instead of back to the bookshop. _A bar_. At which they'd paid way too much for far too little alcohol (not that money mattered to them, but it was very much the principle of the thing for Crowley when it came to alcohol), had been unable to hear one another over the loud music, but had very much been able to almost start a fight after the second round of strange men wandering over and trying to blatantly flirt with Crowley while Aziraphale huffed and puffed with indignation. 

And now they were sitting in this godawful place and Aziraphale looked as if he'd just been made to eat someone's old gym socks instead of the 'asian-inspired' dish he'd forced down. Crowley's mocking words were not helping.

“It's not just that. You're doing a thing, I suspect. A worrying-and-trying-to-not-appear-worried thing. And from the looks of it, I'd say you're failing at it.”

“I just-” Aziraphale fiddled with his own handkerchief, pulled out after he'd given the napkin a second look and decided that eco-friendly should really include more thorough washing before re-using. “I just thought we should try some new things. You know. Instead of the same old thing.”

“Same old thing?”

“Oh, you know!” He sounded almost exasperated – and worried. “Always the same thing – the same Ritz, the same dishes, then my old place for a nightcap with the same wine, the same walks through the park with the same old ducks-”

“I'm pretty sure they're mostly new ducks. They don't live quite that long.”

“You know what I mean!”

“I don't. I really don't.”

Aziraphale sighed, and fiddled with his handkerchief some more, staring down at it, and Crowley's face softened. How could it not, considering Aziraphale's eyes were almost swimming?

“Angel.” His voice was just as soft, and before he could ask anything more, Aziraphale gave up.

“I'm just worried- it's become this thing, that we always do the same- that our meetings have gone on auto-pilot, so to speak” and both of them were silenced for a moment for the surprise of such modern phrasing coming from him, before he continued even quieter “I'm just worried you'll become bored with it.”

“Bored.”

“Yes, Crowley, bored! You're fast and fashionable and always with the newest electronics and styles and- and I'm not. I'm always the same. It must get boring for you at some point. The same mindless habits, again and again.”

“Oh, for the love of-” Crowley swept his hand through his hair. “That's what you're worried about? That I'll get bored with you? That's why we've had to go through all this awful food and music and- and annoying people everywhere?”

“I have to admit, I was hoping it would be nicer to try new things.” Aziraphale mumbled down towards his hands, still busy with the handkerchief.

“It can be, but that's not the point! The point is-” Crowley grabbed his hand and pulled Aziraphale out of his thoughts, and slightly towards him. “The point is.” He interlocked their fingers. “That I'm never going to get bored of any of that, okay? And you know why?”

Aziraphale shook his head.

“Because, yeah, alright, we've been doing this stuff for years now, true. Going to the Ritz, and to the park, and at your place. And for years, every time we did this, I was thinking- wouldn't it be great if we could do it without the hiding? Wouldn't it be amazing if I could do this with you and do _more_? Hold your hand, give you a kiss, sit on a bench without leaving room for Jesus or whatever fucking prick you'd worry about looking down on us?”

He didn't even wait for the scolding he was sure to receive on the blasphemous abuse of that poor young man's name before giving Aziraphale's hand a squeeze.

“So, you see. It might be the same old thing, but it's never the same, not anymore. And I'll never get bored of it. Alright?”

Aziraphale nodded, his eyes still swimming with tears, but his face now flushed a vibrant pink and a soft smile on his lips. 

“Great. Then let's get out of here and get to the bloody Ritz so you can have some tea and petit fours.”

“And a kiss.” Aziraphale whispered, sheepishly, but grinning.

“Oh no. I'm not gonna wait until the Ritz for that.”


End file.
